Loss of legend still hard for many to comprehend

JUSTIN BARNEYSports Columnist

Published Tuesday, February 20, 2001

Justin Barneystaff biosend email

DAYTONA BEACH -- I was a few short blocks from Daytona International Speedway when it happened. The crash heard round the world which took the life of NASCAR legend Dale Earnhardt in Sunday's Daytona 500.

With the track so close, you can hear the buzz of every car circling around the most famous 2.5-mile oval in the world. But there was an eerie silence that followed the wreck, a fitting prelude to what some have called Black Sunday.

A friend and I sat and stared at the television screen, totally numb. Somehow, you hoped this was a dream. Maybe even a cruel and sick prank. But shortly after various news outlets confirmed the unthinkable, you could almost feel a cold blanket envelop the city. The electricity filtering throughout the town, and usually lasting well after the race, ended with a tire-squealing skid into the wall on the final lap.

''I'm still shocked, just can't believe it,'' Daytona Beach resident Paul Birge said. ''No one will ever be able to drive that number again. It's like I lost a family member. Someone you watch week in and week out and he won't be there anymore on Sundays.''

Hordes of black and red clad fans gathered at the Halifax Medical Center just down the road from the track where Earnhardt was taken. Some prayed. Strangers embraced other strangers. Children rolled toy cars along a curb. The party atmosphere that usually surrounds the Daytona 500 was clearly over.

''It doesn't seem real, not at all,'' said Sherry Bates, tears sliding down her cheeks. ''This is something that doesn't happen. I've been a Earnhardt fan forever. Forever. I just can't see NASCAR without No. 3.''

Earnhardt's wreck itself didn't look that bad. Not nearly as bad as Tony Stewart's airborne tumble, a wicked pileup that involved 18 cars. But hitting a concrete wall at 170 m.p.h. would be comparable to throwing an egg against a brick house. There's no give.

''It didn't look that bad,'' said Daytona resident Mike Minter, who was at the race. ''But you'd never think it would happen to him. People worshiped the guy. NASCAR isn't going to recover from this.''

That was the consensus around Daytona, where the finality of Earnhardt's death seemed to have sunk in by mid-Monday. The tight-knit NASCAR community, its aura of invincibility tarnished by the fourth driver fatality in the past 12 months, searched for answers.

''It's like this isn't happening, a bad dream or something,'' said Joe Buxton, pumping gas into a truck emblazoned with Earnhardt stickers. ''You don't just get over something like this. This isn't supposed to happen.''

For those who don't follow NASCAR, Earnhardt getting killed on the final turn of the 500 is nearly impossible to put into perspective. It's the equivalent of Michael Jordan dying on the court in the seventh game of the NBA Finals. Like Jordan, who revolutionized his sport, Earnhardt was a racing icon and one who'll be impossible to replace.

Doctors said Earnhardt didn't suffer an ounce. For his legion of fans, however, the sting won't let up anytime soon.